I Was Four Years Old Then, And

They Told Me I Had Been Sick Twelve Days, Lying Like Dead All The While, And That Whirlwind Chaser, Who Was Standing Bear's Uncle And A Medicine Man, Had Brought Me Back To Life.

The Holy Land Is Everywhere.

You Remember That My Great Vision Came To Me When I Was Only Nine Years Old, And You Have Seen That I Was Not Much Good For Anything Until After I Had Performed The Horse Dance Near The Mouth Of The Tongue River During My Eighteenth Summer.

I Was Standing On The Highest Mountain Of Them All, And Round About Beneath Me Was The Whole Hoop Of The World. And While I Stood There I Saw More Than I Can Tell And I Understood More Than I Saw; For I Was Seeing In A Sacred Manner The Shapes Of All Things In The Spirit, And The Shape Of All Shapes As They Must Live Together Like One Being. And I Saw That The Sacred Hoop Of My People Was One Of Many Hoops That Made One Circle, Wide As Daylight And As Starlight, And In The Center Grew One Mighty Flowering Tree To Shelter All Children Of One Mother And One Father. And I Saw That It Was Holy.

The Life Of An Indian Is Like The Wings Of The Air. That Is Why You Notice The Hawk Knows How To Get His Prey. The Indian Is Like That. The Hawk Swoops Down On Its Prey, So Does The Indian. In His Lament He Is Like An Animal. For Instance, The Coyote Is Sly, So Is The Indian. The Eagle Is The Same. That Is Why The Indian Is Always Feathered Up, He Is A Relative To The Wings Of The Air.